


Penance

by QueenOfNewOrleans22



Category: Mayhem (Band)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:47:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27833269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfNewOrleans22/pseuds/QueenOfNewOrleans22
Summary: Øystein and Per pay Varg a visit in prison.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Kudos: 15





	Penance

In the grand scheme of things, Varg hadn't considered how lonely prison would be without anybody to keep him company. 

White walls, white floors, white jumpsuit. 

He was kept in solitary confinement, away from the other inmates for fear of an attack due to the severity of his 'crime'. Twenty-three hours a day, seven days a week. There was only one hour in which Varg was allowed outside, during his lonely hour spent exercising, running across the windy courtyard as the guards stared at him, as if in fear that Varg had somehow managed to grab hold of a knife. 

It was lonely, quiet, but not peaceful - Varg only had his thoughts for company most days. 

On a usual day, Varg would be thinking about what could've been, what should've been, and what had actually happened, but at that particular moment, as Varg lay on his uncomfortable, stiff cot, nothing more than a poor excuse for a bed, his mind was filled with thoughts of regret. 

Not genuine regret - not remorse, but a simple wish that Varg had been more careful, had not told that stupid bassist about anything. He would've still been a free man, if not for that simple mistake. 

If not for that one mistake, Varg would still be making music, doing what he loved, instead of being locked up, cold and lonely. He would still be playing bass in Mayhem, and teaching Jan and Jørn how Black Metal was really done, instead of the pussy shit that they had going on at that moment. If not for opening his mouth and threatening, Varg could be enjoying a life without trouble. 

Instead, he was locked up, trapped, an animal in a cage. 

"Of course you would've been a free man if you hadn't killed me." A sudden voice broke the silence, carefully neutral, free of hate or anger, just pure and simple. "On the other hand, you never came across as smart." 

Varg sat straight up, so fast that his spine ached in complaint at the too-fast movement. His eyes were wide, and all of the saliva seemed to have suddenly dried up from his mouth. Fear was an unfamiliar emotion for Varg, but at that moment, it seemed to be the only thing he could feel.

"You're dead." He whispered hoarsely. 

The simple fact of the matter was that Øystein was dead, and his body was rotting underneath six feet of dirt, being picked apart by the maggots and worms.

But, there he was - sitting at Varg's feet, perched at the edge of the bed. 

Øystein picked at a loose hem on his torn jeans. "Yes." He agreed. "But you have no idea what hate can do, can you, you little shithead?" 

The words didn't register completely, because Varg was still caught up in the fact that the very man he was in prison for killing was just sitting there, like it didn't matter at all, like this was the most normal thing in the world ever. Varg opened his mouth, but all that came was a gasp, like a man who was desperate for any sort of air, and it sounded pitiful. "You're dead." He repeated. "I killed you." 

With an annoyed sigh, Øystein rolled his eyes. "Thank you so _very_ much for reminding me of that. I almost forgot that you stabbed me in my goddamn head."

Varg made an undignified squeaking noise in response, scooting backwards until he was against the wall, with the cement digging uncomfortably into his shoulders. They were still too close, so much so that Varg could smell the rot and blood, and it made his stomach twist. 

This had to be a hallucination, Varg was sure - those bloody guards probably put something in his food, those fucks. 

Like a child whom was desperate to rid the monster from his dreams, Varg shut his eyes tightly, until his head ached with the effort. "This is a hallucination." He said firmly, because it was all too real to be any sort of dream. "It will end soon."

"Tough luck." Øystein said. 

"It will end." Varg continued, unbothered by the interruption, or perhaps just trying his best to ignore it until it went away. Or, rather, _he._ "And you will be gone, because you're dead, and gone, and buried, and - for fuck's sake, I killed him!" 

Varg grabbed at his hair and pulled at the roots. "I killed you!" He repeated, like a broken record, stuck on repeat.

Things seemed to be spiraling, like Varg was falling down a hole with no end in sight, and he felt compelled to scream, except he didn't need anymore medications to drive him crazy, to give him hallucinations of Øystein Aarseth, who was dead, and nothing could change that. 

But then Varg opened his eyes, and Øystein was still there. 

Øystein looked just like he had when he'd died - pale, drawn, with dried blood covering his body, caking his clothes and making his hair look crusty. His shirt was torn from the knife and with the effort that he had fought, allowing parts of his torso to peel through, with blood still steadily pouring from the several stab wounds. There was two wounds on the side of his head, partly covered by Øystein's long black hair, and five more on his neck, red slits on pale white. 

The sight was startling, and oh so familiar, except Øystein was breathing and blinking and Varg wondered if screaming was so bad after all. 

"Are you done?" Øystein snapped, his tone becoming irritated. 

Varg stared at him, unable to say a word. 

"Well, I'll just take that as a 'yes'." Øystein sniffed, shifting around. "You would think that I would be the one stirring up a fuss, considering that you stabbed me."

Yes, Varg could remember that night, just like it'd been yesterday. He could remember how Øystein had screamed, how he'd fallen down the stairs, gasping for breathe, leaving a trail of blood in his wake. That bastard had been like a pitiful child. 

"Bastard?" Øystein smirked, letting out an incredulous little chuckle. "Me? No way in Hell." He shook his head. "Pelle? Am I a bastard?" 

Hearing that name made Varg feel like a bucket of ice water had been dunked over him without warning, and his eyes widened almost comically, his fingers curling into fists. "No..." He whispered, hardly daring to believe what was happening around him. 

"Yes." A quiet voice said, and there was Per, casual as could be, with his boots on the toilet rim and his haunches on the sink. "I do think you're a bastard." 

Varg's heart dropped. "Dear God." He whimpered. 

"I'm almost offended." Øystein snickered. "But I'm not." 

Per looked almost exactly as he had on that bootleg album, with half of his head blown off, and clumsily placed back together so that his eyes were on straight. A small part of Varg felt sick at the sight, looking at all of the blood, dried and sticky. Per's wrists were torn down and across, almost until he reached his actual hand, showing off tendons and pearly white bone. When he spoke, blood gushed from the wound on Per's throat, showing off the arteries that'd been exposed by that hunting knife when Per had slit his own throat. 

"This isn't real. This isn't real!" Varg tossed himself off of the bed, falling on his hands and knees and shoving himself back up, lurching towards the door and pounding on it with all his might. "Let me out! _Let me out! **Let me out help me help me!!"**_ He couldn't breathe, couldn't see straight. 

"Is he usually so whiny?" Per asked. 

Øystein laughed. "Yes, very much. Don't worry, my friend. I'll get a lot more out of him than whining, and I think that you'll be more than willing to help me out, won't you, Pelle?" 

Varg let out a sob, crumbling to the floor. "Let me out! Please! Fucking _let me out!"_

"Like what?" Per sounded coy, almost sly. 

Øystein hummed in thought. "Screaming." 


End file.
